Because Arria is you.

Because I must, for your pure and noble heart and for your beauty," said he.

"When I look upon you I forget my dreams of war and conquest; I think only of peace and love and have no longer the heart to slay.

Oh, sweet Arria! I feel as if I should fling my swords into the Tiber." "Oh, my love! could I make you throw your swords into the Tiber I should be very happy." Her eyes had turned serious and thoughtful.
Her girlish trickery had come to an end.

Vanity retired, now, and Love had sole command.
He put his arms about her and rained kisses upon her face, her hair, her eyes.